


you know I can't love you

by roseweasley



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseweasley/pseuds/roseweasley
Summary: Jaime Lannister is a safe place for Sansa Stark to land. Title from Love, Love, Love -- Of Monsters and Men.





	you know I can't love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaimelanniser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/gifts).



> WHOA I FIC FROM ME? That's not Jonsa or Theonsa? I'm shocked.
> 
> Full disclaimer, I proof skimmed this fic. Proof-reading? Yikes. 
> 
> I go back to school tomorrow, so I'll be on here less frequently. This'll be a multichapter slow burn fic. I love you all. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr. Send me prompts. @weasleyrose. We have a lot of time to fill before season 8.

The moment that their eyes met, Sansa knew that she was well and truly finished. She’d been seventeen and naïve, believing in stories and fairy tales. Jaime was beautiful—tall, blonde, charismatic. There was something more to him, though. Something that made her heart sing.

 

Cersei and Robert had come to Wintertown with the children and Jaime had shown up the last minute. The Baratheons were still together by the grace of the Seven. She’d overheard her mum saying that this was their _last chance—_ whatever that meant. Sansa was just happy that she would be acquainted with them before she moved down South for school.

 

It hadn’t gone the way she had hoped. Joffrey had been outrageously cruel and she had spent most of the visit trying to put on a brave face. That was, until the last day of the trip.

 

There was a room in the house made entirely of windows. It overlooked the lush backyard—perfectly manicured, to Catelyn’s standards—and had a long window seat she could curl up on with a cup of hot cocoa.

 

That was where Jaime had found her, gazing out at the cloudless night sky. “I’m sorry about my nephew.” He had said. “His behavior is inexcusable.”

 

It shocked Sansa, to hear him speak so candidly. In the dim light of the room, his hair looked more golden than blonde. She wondered if he dyed it. Her father had gone grey a few years past and kept it. It suited men like Ned Stark. Honest men.

 

“It’s not your fault.” Sansa murmured, taking a sip of her cocoa.

 

“It is. We all contributed to his… upbringing.” He gestured to the space next to her, and she nodded for him to sit, bringing her legs closer to her chest. “If you need a friend in King’s Landing, I wouldn’t rely on him. Or my sister. Or Robert, for that matter.”

 

Sansa could feel her eyes well with tears. What was the point of going south if she was just going to be alone? She willed the tears away, wishing she was stronger. Braver. More like Arya.

 

“You can call on me, if you need to. I know I’m a stranger, but I’m good in a crisis.” Jaime’s hand hovered over her leg before he patted it reassuringly.

 

“Thank you.” She said. “I’ve got to be up early.”

 

Jaime nodded and got up to leave. “Be careful down south.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’re a Stark.”

 

That she was.

* * *

 

They met again her final year of school. It was a stormy night in King’s Landing. Harry Hardyng had just dropped her off in the middle of the city with her belongings in a designer suitcase. Everything she owned, contained to one small bag.

 

The city was too big, and her phone was dying quickly. There was no way she could Uber with the battery she had left. So she did the thing she promised herself she wouldn’t do—she involved herself with the Lannisters.

 

Perhaps he wouldn’t even remember her. If that was the case she would just… walk? Walk to where? Now that she and Harry were done—years late, if she was honest—she had nowhere to go. No flat. She could get a hotel.

 

She pulled out her phone. Five percent left. Her thumb hovered over the name _Jaime Lannister_ and the number he had given her before she left. Biting her lip, she clicked the phone icon and waited with bated breath.

 

“Hello?” His voice was her salvation.

 

“It’s Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

 

“Ah,” Jaime cleared his voice. “Is everything alright?”

 

 _No._ “Yes. Well, I’m stranded. I’m in the city—“

 

“Where?”

 

“Um… Flea Bottom? I think. Near the old Street of Flour.” She glanced around, trying to find a landmark. “There’s a Hot Pie bakery.”

 

“I know where that is. Wait in the bakery. I’ll be there soon.” He paused. “I’m glad you called.”

 

“Thank you, Jaime.”

 

“See you soon.” She heard a click and headed for the bakery. It was late—nearly 10—but the bakery was still _blessedly_ open. They served coffee, by the grace of the gods. She ordered an espresso and sat at one of the tables.

 

True to his word, he walked in not ten minutes later. Her heart squeezed uncomfortably, and she berated herself for allowing herself to feel such things. This was _Jaime Lannister._ He was nearly twice her age, _and_ Joffrey’s uncle to boot.

 

Yet the way he looked at her, as if he was _concerned_ for her wellbeing made her feel warm. It was a warmth she hadn’t felt in years. Harry had taken all of her warmth, patience, and naiveté.

 

He pulled out the chair in front of her and sat, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to tell me what happened.”

 

Sansa shrugged, stirring her espresso sullenly. “I broke up with my boyfriend. He packed up my stuff and dropped me in the middle of town.” She could’ve used a pay phone to call a cab, but she didn’t. “My phone’s dead. He didn’t pack me a charger. He never was… thoughtful.”

 

Jaime looked like he understood. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

 

She shrugged. “I was going to get a hotel room. I graduate in two weeks.”

 

“Nonsense.” He shook his head. “You’ll stay with me. I have the room, trust me. If you don’t mind sharing a bed with a golden retriever, that is.”

 

“You have a dog?” Somehow, he didn’t seem like the type.

 

“His name is Rain.”

 

“That’s an odd name for a dog.” She remarked.

 

“It pissed my father off.” He shrugged, pointing to her coffee. “Are you done?”

 

She drank the rest of it and nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

The car parked out front was one you wouldn’t expect to see in Flea Bottom. It was expensive, that much Sansa could tell. Some sort of Porsche, she thought. He opened the door and let her in before taking her suitcase to the trunk. It was an intimate car, clearly not designed for comfort. Jaime fiddled with the gear shift, a contemplative look on his face.

 

“We’re not all bad, you know.”

 

Sansa quirked her head. “Who?”

 

“Lannisters.” She gazed out the window, not trusting herself to meet his eyes.

 

“I know.”

 

She felt his eyes on her, though she ignored the pull. He threw the car in drive and that was it—the spell was broken.

 

* * *

 

When they pulled up to the lofts he lived in, he felt shame rise in his cheeks. They were excessive, even for a Lannister. At the time Cersei had told him that he needed to live somewhere _“fit for the heir to the Lannister fortune.”_ It had meant something to him at the time, or so he had thought. Now the building just looked too big.

 

“This is me.” He parked the car at the entrance, darting around so he could open to door for Sansa. “I’ll grab your luggage.”

 

He popped the trunk and hauled out her suitcase with his good hand before handing the keys off to the valet. Money could buy a lot of things, convenience was one of them. If Sansa was thinking _anything,_ her face didn’t betray it. In fact, she looked shockingly passive. Her family was arguably wealthier than his was, though they had no reason to flaunt it.

 

The doorkeeper smiled at him as they walked in. “Hello Pod.” Sansa smiled softly at the boy as he waved them through.

 

“Do you often have visitors?”

 

 _None as pretty as you._ “Cersei and Tyrion come by when they like.” In truth, if he lived anywhere else Cersei wouldn’t deign to visit him.

 

“You aren’t like her at all.” She whispered, so softly he might’ve missed it if he wasn’t hanging on to her every word.

 

“She has different priorities.”

 

Sansa nodded, not pushing any further. It was possible she already knew about Cersei’s priorities. Time had shaped her into something warped and wicked. Sometimes he forgot that she was supposed to be his mirror image. It had been a long time since he had seen himself in her.

 

The Gods had deemed it fit to curse him with vanity. Looks, things, _girls_ mattered to him. The perceptions of others shaped who he was. It all changed after the _incident._ After the kidnapping. He was down a hand, and a love—Brienne had been taken from him—and he’d lost most of what he had with Cersei as well. It hadn’t bothered him in years—it had faded to a dull ache he carried with him. _Atlas,_ he thought bitterly, _doomed to carry the weight of the world._

 

They rode the elevator in silence. Sansa’s posture was a dead giveaway of her upbringing. Since they’d met he’d seen her slouch only once, and that was only in private company. She was truly amazing, and totally unlike anyone he had met before. Time had not made her bitter, it had made her a woman. A woman with invincible skin.

 

His flat took up the top two floors of the loft. The penthouse was roomy, if not lonely. “You are welcome to pick a bedroom. If you’d like to stay on the same floor as I do, you can choose a room on the second floor. If not, there are two on the first floor. The kitchen is on the second floor, as is the dining room and the biggest bathrooms.”

 

Sansa took it in, and he couldn’t help but watch the way her eyes fell on each detail. It was a tad garish—he’d let a stylist called Varys have his way with the place. There was red and gold _everywhere._ A constant reminder of the betrayal to his family. He pushed it out of his mind angrily.

 

“It’s lovely,” her courtesies were so _practiced._ “Which room is yours?”

 

He pointed to the end of the hall with his good hand. “At the very end.” Sansa nodded and pulled her suitcase to the room next to his. That made his heart pound, though he couldn’t place why. “Are you hungry?”

 

“Do you have a chef on retainer?” Sansa called out. “Because if so, I love lemoncakes.”

 

He chuckled. It had been a long time since he had actually _laughed._ It felt good. “I can cook.”

 

She popped her head out of the room, disbelief coloring her features. “ _What?_ ”

 

“I can—you know—“ he made stirring motions with his hands. “cook.”

 

“What’s your best dish?” He followed her into the bedroom, taking a seat on the vanity chair.

 

“Paella, but that takes too long.”

 

“Paella? Really?” She screwed her face up. “You can cook _paella_?”

 

“Yes,” he smirked. “I can also cook boxed macaroni and cheese, and boxed brownies.”

 

“That’ll do.” She returned his smirk, and for a moment he forgot who they were. Gods, the way her lips quirked like that drove him _mad._

He stood and nodded stiffly. “Well, I’ll get that started then.” _And maybe take a cold shower._

The macaroni and cheese was easy enough to make, though he added some extra ingredients he had lying around to spruce it up. The brownies were more difficult—he’d never met a boxed mix that he liked. He had them around for the kids when they came round—Myrcella had a sweet tooth to rival anyone—but he usually let them cook it.

 

Pricks on the back of his neck alerted him to her presence. She had such a _way_ about her—an elegance in the way she moved—that it was difficult even to know when she arrived. “Need any help?”

 

“Actually, yes. Boxed food isn’t my specialty.” She nodded and took the box and the bowl from him, methodically adding the ingredients. He focused his energy on the pasta.

 

“Let’s put these in. They should be done by the time we’re done eating.”

 

The kitchen had an island with stools set up along one side. He set their places quickly, trying to decide whether wine would be inappropriate for their situation. “Do you drink?” He asked.

 

“Yes,” she looked up from the pasta she was dishing out. “I like anything.”

 

He chewed on the inside of his lip, deciding that she _was_ an honored guest. It wouldn’t be inappropriate to pull out an expensive vintage. An Arbor wine—one that paired well with cheese. He pulled open the wine cabinet and went for the bottle he’d been saving.

 

Jaime swiped the wineglasses from the cabinet and set them down gently in front of each plate before grabbing the wine key and popping the cork. He poured them each a generous serving before taking his seat next to her.

 

“Cheers,” he raised his wineglass in salute.

 

“What are we going to toast to?”

 

Something Tyrion had said to him years ago came to him then. “Cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! xx Ash


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